Growing Up: The First Project
by Wicked Wonder
Summary: A future fic, rather dark and twisted, with Charlie being a girl. 'Cause I can.


Willie Wonka and the Chocolate Factory

"Growing Up: The First Project"

Summary: Kind of a remix, kind of a twist. The story of one man, five kids, and a candy factory with one detail changed…

Warnings: Disturbing themes, sexual mentions

Disclaimer: I own the book "Pure Imagination" and the special edition DVD, but sadly, not these characters.

Feedback: Will earn you a golden ticket! WickedWonder1979 at hotmail dot com

For: You already know- the dreamers of dreams

Author's Note: No, I can't format correctly with the new quick thing. So, breaks are denoted by... 00000

00000

The Bucket family was a small one, and a poor one. They lived as their ancestors before them, in the house where they, their parents, and before them, were born, raised, lived and died. By the modern day, it was just the four of them, the parents, Henry, who they had placed all of their hopes on, his wife Josie, who they adored. Josie brought her parents along, and they lived, if not happily, all together in the house.

When Josie grew heavy with child, Henry drew her close to him. "When Charlie is born, things will be different," he promised.

She laughed unwillingly. Life had always been hard for her, and she saw no way that things would change, especially with another mouth to feed. "Different? Henry, how?"

"You'll see," he answered and swung her around, much to the surprise of the other people in the room.

00000

When her time came, she labored and bore the pain stoically. Just when it threatened to overwhelm her, she was finished and could hear the faint, then louder cries. The doctor held the child, then swaddled it and handed it to her.

"You delivered a fine girl, Mrs Bucket."

"A girl?" she repeated faintly. Never had she considered the possibility that the upcoming child would be anything but a boy.

Before she could ask more questions, Henry came rushing over, not caring about the doctor's annoyed huff. "It's a girl," Josie repeated in the same wondering tone.

"Yes, of course. Charlotte," as if Henry had planned this for years. "Things will be different for Charlie."

00000

For months, than years, though, things were the same. There was the accident that had taken away Henry, that had forced Josie to work when she'd much rather watch her girl, Charlie, grow. Her daughter was the splitting image of her, with the same soft features, same straw blonde hair, and pale blue eyes. Josie was determined that one thing would differ- Charlie would not be old before her time, not have chilblains in winter, not ever have to face eating or not, so that another person could have what you skipped. It was the one thing that her and her parents (and though she called them all grandfather and grandmother, it was how she thought of them) talked about whenever Charlie was out of earshot.

"Schooling's the answer!" Grandpa George proclaimed, and so Charlie went as soon as possible, and was encouraged to do well. She sailed through, because she knew that she would face five disappointed people if she came home with low marks. She never wanted to disappoint them, ever.

00000

When Charlie was ten, she started delivering papers. She could run with the wind- something her Grandpa Joe told her that she had gotten from her father. It was something to help, and since they ate off of what she made, no one could tell her to stop. She was determined that she could do this all through school- beyond that was incomprehensible, like mountains covered in clouds.

00000

Two years passed, unremarked. Charlie got older, and that was the only thing that changed, up until the day she heard about the contest, and then changes couldn't happen fast enough.

"So shines a good deed in a weary world."

Charlie could recite this in her sleep, because it was when her life started. She remembered how she had puzzled at first about the meaning, and when it became clear, she had shivered and let herself be swept along, her and Grandpa Joe, in that big glass elevator and they were high above her city and she had thought, never again, never to feel hunger and never to wear the same sweater everyday, and never to see her mother look at her with sadness. Never again.

00000

It was some years later, when Charlie was seventeen, that things became different once again.

Outside, the world was all different. Modern. It was fortunate that her mother didn't know that if she had remained at the laundry, she would have been out of a job within a year, as it converted to a Laundromat, all self serve. The grandparents hadn't concerned themselves with what was out there at the house and cared less now, that they each had the finest things. But Charlie saw, and she wondered at what it meant.

School was about to finish for good, and Charlie knew that she had a new education in front of her, but she was pretty sure what to expect, as much as you could expect something in the factory. It was strange, but the older she got, the more the factory amazed her, how she always discovered something new. It was also strange how she never saw Willie. She had, quite often when she was younger, but with every year, she saw him less, until this one, when she realized that she was living under his roof and hadn't seen him since the beginning of the term. She wasn't neglected at all- she suspected that Veruca would have wanted some- well, most- of the contents of her room and wardrobe. Charlie was, however, lonely.

Charlie turned eighteen, and a month later, graduated. Her classmates discussed excitedly the things they were moving on to. She stayed silent; they knew who she was, anyway. They had told her on many occasions that she was lucky that her whole future was mapped out for her.

As she walked back to her seat, she noticed him. He was sitting in a corner, in the back, having obviously come in quietly. His eyes met and held hers until she had to look away to sit down. Her heart beat heavily, and she knew that her education would be starting sooner rather than later.


End file.
